


The First Time He Was Speechless – Mycroft’s POV

by Blood_Sucker_1428



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Mycroft, Dancing, Developing Relationship, F/M, Feelings, Friendship/Love, Realization, mythea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 09:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4741433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blood_Sucker_1428/pseuds/Blood_Sucker_1428
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 54 of “A First Time For Everything” from Mycroft’s POV. This chapter is where Mycroft and Anthea attend a gala. Anthea is excited to wear the dress she’d bought months ago when Mrs. Holmes was in town. Mycroft doesn’t care for these events but Anthea could use some stress relief. We’ve seen it though Anthea’s eyes, let’s see how Mycroft’s night went.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Time He Was Speechless – Mycroft’s POV

**Author's Note:**

> AFTFE keeps getting more and more popular. Anthea's blog has about 150 followers now, and I get fanart and stuff sometimes. Seriously, how does this happen? Incredible, thank you. My latest big ‘thank you’ to the readers is chapter 51 in Mycroft’s point of view. I’d suggest not reading this without reaching this moment in “AFTFE” but feel free to if you want. Thanks to everyone who has ever even glimpsed at my Sherlock fics. Read, comment, and enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: Clearly I don’t own Sherlock. The show is the baby of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, while Sherlock Holmes itself is the creation of Arthur Conan Doyle.

This gala was going to kill Mycroft. What with all the stress that came with planning all this Moriarty business with Sherlock, and then navigating whatever it was that was apparently happening between himself and Anthea, the last thing Mycroft really wanted to do was make nice with the normal people. Quite frankly he just wanted to be at home or at the club, sitting in silence and not having to deal with a single person for a couple of hours. That sounded blissful. Mycroft shook his head as he leaned on Anthea’s desk, scotch in hand, waiting for the girl to finish getting ready in the bathroom.

The problem lied with Anthea, herself. Mycroft would not have hesitated to send his apologies to the host of the event and hide at the club, but he suspected that Anthea may be looking forward to it. Mycroft wasn’t the only one who was feeling stress weighing him down at the moment, after all. Anthea was almost as equally involved with this Moriarty business, and then there was the last of the relatives in her direct bloodline dying quite recently. Not to mention Mycroft was quite aware that he hadn’t been making life quite easy for the girl and she always handled it with a smile and a little joke.

Always so understanding… Why did she have to be that way? Actor training perhaps made her understand emotions and empathy in a way Mycroft never would. Where others would have given up and abandoned them, for some strange reason John and Anthea stayed. John was attracted to danger and the unique, and little Alice had always craved more in her life than her dead-end job and boring lifestyle. But why did such normal people stick around? Of course Anthea’s little…. Attraction could count for some of the reasoning. Mycroft scowled and took a sip of his scotch. It had made whatever remained of a heart within his body shatter when Anthea had developed feelings for him. She was the perfect assistant and now one day, if she did not find a real partner soon, she’d feel jilted and she’d leave his employ. The idea of Anthea leaving her job, well that was just absolutely unacceptable. That wasn’t why she stuck around, Anthea was around long before _that_ mistake had evolved. No she saw something that only his parents had seen before. Something that apparently made him enjoyable to be around.

Enough about that, back to the topic on hand. Why this gala was a good idea for Anthea. There was also that little sidenote in his head. A little yellow sticky note that his mother had placed firmly in his brain. Anthea had yet to wear that beloved dress that she and Mummy had all but squealed about. Perhaps getting to wear this apparently stunning frock would alleviate the girl’s stress and allow her to have a fun time. Maybe she’d socialise, play her little game, and talk to the normal people. It would rejuvenate her and what was good for the goose was good for the gander.

Clearing his thoughts once more Mycroft took a long sip of his scotch. Just as he was doing this, the door creaked open and Anthea stepped back into the main section of the office. Upon laying eyes on the girl Mycroft coughed, causing himself to start choking on the amber liquid, having to pat himself on the chest in order to breathe while his brain refused to function properly.

_What?_

_Bu- Huh?_

_No!_

Mycroft had seen Anthea dressed up before, on multiple occasions in fact. He’d seen the girl in clothes with holes in them and he’d seen her dressed to the nines. This, somehow was different. The dress was… what was it? It was… The dark candy apple material fell on her body as if it had been made specifically for her, that black lace overlay so detailed and delicate just accentuated her curves just so elegantly and sophisticatedly. The colours practically made her skin glow, and her face. Oh, her face. The way those chocolate curls just delicately hung around the shape of her face, the way they framed her red lips with the wry smile.

_WHAT!?_

Mycroft had seen Anthea dressed up before. He was aware that she was an attractive woman and had said so to her before but he’d never, not once in his life, felt…

Anthea cocked her head to the side, a faint frown creased her forehead and she tried her best to smile quizzically. She was trying to work out why her boss was apparently broken. Because really, why was he broken? This was just not fair. He had not seen Anthea dressed in elegant eveningwear since he’d accidentally told her she was important to him and then started to try and avoid her like the plague. He suspected this had something to do with that.

_This. This is exactly why we do not get close to people._

Her dark eyes were locked to his own icy eyes and had apparently been for a while now.

 “Are you okay, sir?” Anthea laughed lightly. Her voice, bless her soul, broke Mycroft of whatever strange frozen trap he was being held in. Mycroft tried to formulate an answer but that still seemed to be a little locked down. Finding no words coming he settled for raising his eyebrows, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

_You see, Mycroft, this is where you’d normally make a dry comment and she’d laugh. That would instantly break the tension._

_…_

_No? Just give her the bloody scotch, then._

Steel eyes fell on the extra glass to his side. Quickly he snatched it up, walked as steadily as he could over to his assistant, and handed her the glass he seemed to have forgotten he’d poured for her. “Thank you.” She muttered as she accepted it, face still contorted with concern. Mycroft forced a quick half smile onto his face momentarily at that seemed to relieve Anthea faintly. She caught his eye and the Ice Man, in all his glory, looked down to his glass in avoidance of those dark orbs. He focused on his glass, twirling the amber liquid, making it dance, just to have something to look at that wasn’t _her_.

_What are you doing, you twat? This is Anthea. You saw her an hour ago and she barely looked different. Are you such a fool that a quick change makes you behave like every other blithering idiot?_

Anthea looked around the room awkwardly.

_Apparently so. What would you brother say?_

That moment of awkward silence that past between the pair as they both stared at nothing was so excruciating that Mycroft began calculating the odds that he’d just spontaneously combust in that room right then and there. Around the third time Anthea checked the time on her phone he’d decided that the odds weren’t anywhere near high enough. Luckily Anthea, as always, had perfect timing.

 “Um…” Her voice was breathy. She looked at the door that lead out of this oh so very small office. “Is Walter downstairs waiting?” The girl was trying small talk? Really? That alone should be enough to clear Mycroft of his state. He despised small talk, loathed it. What was the point?

He nodded.

Anthea raised her eyebrows as she looked to the side again and sighed.

_She knows something is wrong with you. You don’t even need a quarter of a brain to see that. Do something you fool. Anything!_

 “So…” Mycroft began but lost his momentum. He cleared his throat and nervously scratched his eyebrow with his ring finger.

_You’ve yet to compliment her. That would be the appropriate thing to do._

He quickly looked her up and down, eyes stopping to see how Anthea’s hand rest on her thigh, just above her knee.

_Yes. That. Comment on it you idiot. And for God’s sake get yourself under control. It’s only chemicals, think through it. That’s all you do anyway._

 “Is this the, ah, I’m assuming this is _the_ dress.” He sounded like a bumbling teenager. Fantastic. The Ice Man, brought down by that which breaks down all men in the end. Well done. This would not do. Still, Anthea smiled that lovely wry smile and nodded. Good, it got her focused on something other than her boss’ strange behaviour.

 “We told you not to worry about how appropriate it was.” She said as she gave a slow turn, sending the lace in particular dancing around her body as she stopped to pose coyly.

_Stop it._

Mycroft swallowed a lump in his throat.

 “I honestly think this is the best dress I’ve ever owned.”

 “It’s,” Mycroft winced as he tried to force words out of his mouth. “Well, you’re right. It’s fine.”

_Oh, just what every lady wants to hear. Well done._

 “Fine?” Anthea scoffed playfully. See? “You, sir, clearly don’t understand women’s fashion, then, if you think this is fine.” No, he understood it very well it seemed. To well. It was breaking him apparently. Actually, what really broke him was that way she crinkled her nose when she smiled cheekily. Mycroft lost himself in her playfulness and accidentally smiled.

_The nose thing? Really Mycroft? You’ve seen that at least twice a day for years now. That?_

 “Well, my dear.” Mycroft sighed, breaking free of his thoughts berating the actions of his body once more. He tilted his head to the side slightly because he was quite sure that was a comment action of his. “Shall we get this over and done with?” Anthea’s eyes gleaned at some sense of normality.

 “Yes, sir. Let’s go suck up to your colleagues.”

* * *

 

For once being at one of these events with a roomful of people to distract his mind was a relief for Mycroft. For once he didn’t look at the over the top decorations and colour combinations that had far too much effort put into them and want to sneer. It gave Anthea something to focus on and admire, and it gave Mycroft a distraction. Some waiter in all black handed the pair champagne as they entered. That usually meant a paid bar with limited choice. That was somewhat annoying since he and Anthea did enjoy their scotch… but why should he care about Anthea’s preferences? As they stepped further into the ballroom Mycroft was very aware of Anthea’s absentminded movement closer to him. A subtle smile sat on her painted lips as she looked around the room.

 “Quick socialisation lap and then find a dark corner?” She quirked and eyebrow at Mycroft as she brought the champagne up to her red lips. Mycroft rolled his eyes, lips tugging into a somewhat playful smile. This girl knew him way too well. But maybe that was half the issue here.

 “My dear, do you even need to ask?” He sighed, falling back into their routine. Anthea chuckled as she stepped closer to her boss. Mycroft had to remind himself that this too was well within their normal behaviour and was therefore acceptable.

* * *

 

Mycroft and Anthea had yet to go off and find their dark corner. They had, however, done their initial lap of socialisation and were merely standing in plain sight for a tad longer. If they missed anyone important than these people could come and find them before they retreated to the blessed darkness.

 “So,” Anthea huffed as if mentally preparing herself. She was looking over her nose at the crowd of people, searching.

Mycroft knew what this meant.

 “Who here is drunk and gullible enough to buy a pretty girl a couple of drinks?” She smiled that sly little smile she had when she was up to something and Mycroft felt a like a weight had been dropped into his stomach. The smirk on the brunette woman’s face twitched wider as she focused her attention on one particular gentleman. “The boy with the blue shirt and black tie has been eyeing me all night.” Ah yes, Mycroft had seen the boy in the outlandish outfit who was fumbling around the place and he he’d been aware of the ‘eyeing’ as Anthea so eloquently put it. “I think he’d be good, what do you think?” She was asking her statistics man for help. Help in order to flirt with a young man with more money than he knew what do with. She’d flutter her eyelashes and smile, she’d twirl her hair around her finger and place the other hand seductively on just the right place on her waste.

 “No.” The word came out of Mycroft’s mouth without any prompting. It fell out like the word vomit that spewed from Sherlock’s mouth. Mycroft blinked. Anthea whipped her head around and Mycroft watched her confused expression as her curls hit her mouth and nose.

 “No?” She questioned, sounding genuinely offended. “No, as in he doesn’t fancy me?”

 “No.” Mycroft looked away and sighed in exasperation.

_Of course he likes the look of you. Practically every man in every room you ever enter does. And quite frankly usually I couldn’t care less._

 “That is not what I meant.” Mycroft fumbled with his words despite having thought of a relatively perfect and in character sentence to say. “The dullard has been looking you up and down since you smiled politely at him.”

 “Then what’s the problem, sir?”

_Because he’s a fumbling idiot who you’d find funny and you might actually like him._

 “There are a lot of influential people here, Miss James, and the children of a lot of reasonably powerful people. I would rather you not get some boy upset for them to go home crying to daddy about how Mycroft Holmes’ assistant played a mean trick on them.” Satisfied in his choice of words for perhaps the first time all night, Mycroft turned back to Anthea. A raised eyebrow and a small sneer might help drive his point home and help him appear normal. “We can both easily afford a few drinks, my dear. Let’s not be cheap.” Anthea frowned in confusion. This was, after all, the first time ever Mycroft had expressed issues with her little game. Why wouldn’t she be confused? She looked over to the boy, over to the bar longingly, then back to her boss.

 “Sir, you’ve never had a problem with this before.” She tucked a dark curl behind her ear, a tell-tale nervous sign. “I thought it was just a bit of fun for us to stop you getting completely bored.” She thought she had offended her employer and ‘friend’. He’d upset her. Mycroft felt a pang in his chest.

 “No, it’s mildly entertaining.” Mycroft back pedalled. This was not too dissimilar to times when he was a boy and he’d almost made little Sherlock cry by disheartening him. He’d back pedal.

_“No Sherlock, Santa’s real. It’s only the chimney part that is implausible. He picks the locks on the front door. How do you think he manages to get into houses without fire places?”_

_“Then why did you say that?”_

_“People lie, Sherlock. Learn to read them.”_

 “I simply don’t feel like playing it tonight, my dear. Just,” On pure whim Mycroft raised his hand and went to stroke Anthea’s arm. Luckily his brain caught up and stopped him before it was too late. He dropped his hand down to his side once more, flexing his fingers. “Stay here. Alright?” Anthea was still confused as she pouted and looked over to the boy in blue once more. He now had a gaggle of girls desperate for his and his friend’s attention. Anthea looked slightly deflated as she shrugged.

 “Okay.” She sighed. “If that’s what you want, sir.” Mycroft scratched at his eyebrow once more as he stopped himself from wincing. No, it’s not what he wants if you’re going to sit there and mope. Because moping is annoying but Anthea moping, much like Sherlock moping, made Mycroft want to stop it, fix it. Mycroft groaned as he shoved his empty glass at Anthea and began walking towards the bar.

 “Let me go buy you that drink.”

_Will that make you happy?_

* * *

 

Eventually Mycroft and Anthea had found solace in this room full of goldfish. The sanctuary came in the disguise of a plush bench off to the side of the room. They’d sat there while Mycroft tried to push away all the useless information that flung around his mind when at an event like this. Too much at one time, he needed to sort through it since, unlike Sherlock, Mycroft didn’t delete anything. Anthea, as usual, was quite helpful. She’d point out a person and ask a question or two. Mycroft answering with whatever interesting secrets, fetishes, weaknesses, etc., that this person may or may not have not only amused the pair but helped Mycroft sort the information effectively. Then of course, the young lady could not resist making a snide comment or two about the person and sometimes caused Mycroft to laugh.

Anthea. The lovely girl never got in the way, she seemed to know what to do without thinking about it. How this unique creature had accidentally found herself mixed up in Mycroft’s word was a series of lucky choices on the part of her and her previous employer. Mycroft must remember to send that man a bottle of wine some time.

Now, the pair would have happily stayed alone in their corner of the room for the remainder of the evening. People, however, could not resist the urge to come over and interrupt their little game with their inane chatter. When would they learn that Mycroft just didn’t care what school your child went to. Why tell these two acquaintances what universities your son is applying to? Why would they care?

The worst of the interruptions came from that ridiculous boy in the blue shirt and the black tie. He saunter over, almost looking as if he were limping, eyes firmly fixated on the woman to Mycroft’s side. As he stopped in front of her, this boy gave her a crooked smile and bowed in the most awkward fashion Mycroft had ever seen and Anthea actually laughed. No, not laughed, she giggled like an infatuated school girl. Mycroft ran his tongue over his top teeth as he took a deep breath.

 “Hollo, I’m Richard.” The boy rasped.

_That’s not how hello is pronounce, you dolt._

 “Sarah.” Anthea nodded, picking a name at random like she always did at these events. So many people would just presume she had a new name for the evening. It certainly made keeping Alice Clarke hidden quite simple.

 “What a beautiful name.” Richard hummed wistfully. _Ugh_. Mycroft clicked his tongue and had to look away before Anthea pretended to be flattered. He couldn’t watch her pretend to be interesting in this blithering idiot, not tonight.

_Just tonight, Mycroft? Are you sure?_

 “I was wondering, Sarah,” Dropping her name in order to create a familiarity, very common technique not only in courting but in sales also. “If you would dance with me?” Mycroft couldn’t look over to the boy, he didn’t want to see the looks the pair were giving each other. How untasteful. “Just one.” Oh, he was one of those. A lost puppy begging for a pretty owner. Mycroft could feel Anthea’s eyes land on him but Mycroft kept his neutral expression in check as he pretended to observe the crowd.

_Why are you looking at me? Gaging my opinion? Why? Or is it your little crush that’s stopping you?_

_I know you like to dance at these events Alice, but you don’t have to dance with this boy out of pity._

 Anthea turned back to this Richard.

 “I suppose one dance can’t hurt.” She nodded. Her voice was breathy and slightly deflated. Well, any reluctance is good. The stupid little puppy held his hand out, held Mycroft’s assistant to her feet and whisked her away to the dancefloor.

Watching Anthea dancing with that young man was… interesting. For one thing, thankfully, the boy was so awkward and trying so hard he was tripping all over the place, tugging to hard, and basically fumbling the whole thing. His rhythm was more akin to a 7/8 time signature than a 4/4 that the song was. It was a weird mixture of being horrible to watch and fascinating at the same time. The issue Mycroft discovered he had with the whole thing was once Anthea realised that the dance wasn’t going to get any better she began to… have fun. Her toe was stepped on and she laughed, she’d smile and encourage Richard when he tried to restart with the correct rhythm. The girl had a generally joyful look on her face and for some reason Mycroft found it painful to watch.

_You know what is happening, you just refuse to acknowledge it._

_Do emotions really scare you this badly? What kind of fool is afraid of a feeling of all things?_

The song ended, leading to the separation of partners. Anthea laughed and thanked Richard, stroking the man down his arm. He held out his hand, clearly asking for another dance. Anthea waved him off and with a polite smile shook her head, no. Good. Richard fumbled in his trouser pocket and pulled out what Mycroft presumed to be a business card and held it out to Anthea. The woman in the black and red gown and the soft chocolate curls took the card from the awkward man in a blue shirt.

With a light smile on her painted lips, Anthea wandered happily back over to where she’d left her loner of a boss. Switching back into sardonic Mycroft mode, Mycroft quirked his eyebrow and smiled slyly at Anthea. Again she seemed relieved to see a normal reaction from the genius, but Mycroft chose to ignore this. She crinkled her nose as her smile widened.

 “What?” She spoke with laughter in her voice.

 “That dance was shocking.” Mycroft stated. What else? Anthea rolled her eyes playfully, biting the inside of her lip. That was not too often of an occurrence but it did happen from time to time.

 “Not everyone can have ballroom dancing listed as a skill on their CV.” She sniped at Mycroft, folding her soft arms across her chest. “I’d say you owe me a proper dance after you cost me a free drink with him.” Oh? “I could have probably gotten us free drinks all night from that one.” Mycroft had not computed the second part of Anthea’s speech. She wanted an actual dance, did she? Mycroft’s eyes barrowed and he pursed his lips in thought. Now, he wasn’t one to dance, what was the point? Sherlock enjoyed it but Sherlock liked all sorts of frivolous things. But Anthea liked to dance. She liked to get lost in another world, like with her books and her plays. Anthea liked to dance but didn’t know how. Mycroft did know how. He nodded to his assistant.

 “Okay.” He said, standing up. It was Anthea’s turn to freeze up. She titled her head a millimetre to the side.

 “What?” She almost spat.

_Don’t ask stupid questions, my dear_.

 “You said I owed you a dance,” Mycroft had to keep himself from rolling his eyes but it didn’t stop him from speaking to Anthea like a child. “And I agreed to it. That’s what ok means, Miss James.” Anthea blinked as she registered the meaning of ‘okay’. It certainly took her long enough.

 “Okay.” She echoed back in a breathy tone. Mycroft nodded and began walking towards the dancefloor with Anthea two steps behind him.

Dances meant close proximity to people. Close proximity to people was never something that Mycroft enjoyed, even with those who fell through the cracks and made him care about them. Even now, dancing with Anthea it was hard to find a comfortable position. He tried to keep a distance from her, finding that it would be easier to dance closer together. Mycroft adjusted his hand placement on Anthea’s waste and pulled her closer into his body. He could the weight of her warm hand on his shoulder. What made this dance strangely comfortable however, was how very much Anthea trusted Mycroft to lead completely and just seemed to flow with his movements. What a strange allegory for their work relationship. Why did everything this girl do for him just feel so close to perfect?

It wasn’t fair.

* * *

 

They hadn’t stayed very long after their dance. Anthea, being the expert in reading Mycroft that she was, had begun to suspect that they’d been there long enough. She’d look over at him and frown slightly, telling that the goldfish were starting to drag him under the water and he was beginning to feel like he was drowning in stupidity and chatter. She’d sent a text to Walter, stepped closer into Mycroft and told him that she’d texted the getaway driver.

Finally they were in the town car making their escape. Mycroft and Anthea sat in their usual places within the familiar surroundings, enjoying the comfortable silence. Mycroft could breathe again. Apparently Anthea could tell this because whenever she glanced over in his direction she’d gain a small smile of relief. Hopefully she’d put all of his odd behaviour down to not wanting to deal with goldfish tonight. He didn’t want to try and explain all this when he didn’t really understand it himself.

The car pulled up in front of Anthea’s building. Anthea sighed contently as she looked up to her building. Mycroft was glad that he and Jamie had convinced Anthea to move flats. She was clearly comfortable here and that was important. After all, if she couldn’t sleep well she’d be useless at work.

_If that sounds like a plausible excuse to you, who am I to argue?_

 “Thanks, Walter.”  Anthea chirped happily to the headrest in front of her. From this angle Mycroft could see Walter smile.

 “You’re welcome, Miss James.” Walter called back to her.

 “I had fun tonight, despite having to pay for all my drinks.”  Anthea angled herself towards Mycroft. She looked very light and full of joy. Her curls had fallen into her more natural loose curls and waves. She gave him one of those gentle smiles that had only really started coming by since her crush developed, the ones she didn’t know she was doing. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”  Anthea unclicked her seatbelt and opened the car door.

_So that’s it?_

_Really?_

_You’re just going to let her go home like that?_

_You never even told her how wonderful she looked tonight._

Anthea was just about to step out of the car.

 “Wait.” The word just fell from Mycroft’s mouth, sounding disgustingly desperate. “Just a moment.” Slightly better. Anthea turned back to face her boss but Mycroft could not look her in the eyes. Instead he stared at his hands. If he had his umbrella right now he’d be twirling it, not only to busy his hands, but to give himself something to focus on. Why didn’t he bring it? Why tonight of all times? The silence was continuing too long. He needed to say something, lest he look like an utter fool once more.

 “You looked.”

 “That dress was.”

_The dress was nice? No. Try again._

Mycroft sighed, clearing his mind from all his thoughts. If he was going to do this he needed to be direct. Mycroft turned to look Anthea in those deep, dark eyes.

_Alright, just say it. Spit. It. Out._

 “Anthea, you looked positively beautiful tonight.” And this was apparently a successful thing to say. Anthea’s cheeks began to gain a rosy hue as that soft, sweet, unconscious smile fell onto her face once more. Mycroft felt that pang in his chest. Anthea looked at the back of Walter’s seat, lost in her own thoughts, before she turned back to Mycroft. Steel held chocolate for a long few seconds.

_Is your assistant at a loss for words?_

_Well, this is new._

 “Thank you, sir.”  Anthea whispered. “Goodnight.”

 “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

A pause as the girl hesitated to get out of the car. A light shake of her head and she was getting out of the car. The door closed with a soft click and Mycroft and Walter watched as she ran in her heels up to the steps of her building.

As the car was taken out of park and began to move its way down the street once more Mycroft heard Walter’s quiet chuckle from the front. Mycroft sneered as he looked at the profile of his long time driver.

 “What, dare I ask, do you find so humorous, Walter?” Walter looked at Mycroft through the review mirror.

 “Nothing, sir.” He laughed. “It’s just.”

 “Walter,” Mycroft snapped. “You know how I despise sentences that start with that phrase.” Walter continued regardless.

 “I’ve known you a long time, kid. There are two things I’ve never seen you do. That is act like an idiot, and fall for someone.” Mycroft scowled as he turned to look out his window. He watched the street lights rushing past for a moment.

 “What is your point?”

 “Tell me sir, do you believe in coincidences?”

**Author's Note:**

> That was without a doubt the most requested chapter for a Myc re-write. I told you all that it would be a little weird with how his brain was working at the time but you all wanted it anyway… Haha. What do we think? Did you like it? Did it live up to the original? I hope so, I actually had more fun writing this version than Anthea’s version. Poor Myc. Thanks so much for reading and a big HUGE thank you to everyone who reads AFTFE. That fic is so special to me. I love talking to you guys about these fantastic characters, I love geeking out about Mark with you, I love it to pieces when people create fics and fan art from my fic. I just really love this fandom. I feel like I’ve finally found a fandom that’s perfect for me. It’s wonderful.


End file.
